


Sitting Sherlock

by mollymega



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymega/pseuds/mollymega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock. As a baby sitter. Perhaps not the best idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had been sulking for 31 hours. And for Sherlock, sulking meant stomping around the flat and giving John the silent treatment and plenty of glares. John supposed it was more torturous to Sherlock than himself; he rather enjoyed the silence. It allowed him time to focus and tidy up the flat until it was at least presentable, and gave him the quiet he needed to post a few blog entries he’d meant to put up weeks ago.

Of course, when Sherlock realized that John seemed to prefer this new moping silence, he found ways of making it the unpleasant experience he intended. He practiced his violin at ungodly hours right outside John’s bedroom and rigged the telly so that it would only play children’s programs. John had been obviously irritated but retreated to Mrs. Hudson’s to watch his ridiculous soaps. However, before going to the landlady’s, John had left the telly running with a note posted on the side that said he was glad to see Sherlock doing his part in preparing for their guests next week.

John knew better. Of course John knew better, Sherlock would not have tolerated his as a companion if John hadn’t been intelligent. But Sherlock still appreciated the fact that John was feeling brazen enough to try and match wits. He’d lose horrendously, but the game would still be fun.

“You’ve been sending texts!”

“I have been known to do that, yes.”

“From my phone!”

“Don’t be silly. Your phone is in your hand, you’ve had it all day. Now quit waving it in my face.”

John collapsed onto the chair across from his flat mate, staring down at the glowing screen. His sent message folder was empty, and he had taken his phone to work. Yet that afternoon, Sarah had barged into his office demanding an explanation. Yes they had been dating for some time, but sending these sorts of messages was just childish. And rude. And how did he have the gall to send such things when he was supposedly with a patient at the moment.

It had taken a good twenty minutes before John had managed to convince Sarah he was innocent of the crime and that somehow his dear detective must have rigged a way to send them so it seemed he had done it. By the time he had finally gotten Sarah from his office, his phone was ringing with an angry call from his sister.

John looked up from his mobile at Sherlock who was feigning disinterest. “How did you send those texts, it said they came from my phone! And when did you even get Harry’s number?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I memorized your contact list months ago.”

John sighed and slid his phone back into his pocket, leaning back into the couch with arms crossed. “Well it was a nice try, but the kids are still coming. Tomorrow.”

“You’ve already made it clear you don’t even like your sister. It’s absurd to do someone a favor if you don’t even like them.”

“She’s still family, you are suppose to do favors for your family. Although considering how you and your brother act, you wouldn’t know much about that. Besides, just because I have a rocky relationship with my sister doesn’t mean I don’t like my niece and nephew. They are actually quite charming children.”

“How charming can they be if I didn’t even know you had them?”

“I…I have pictures of them in my room, Sherlock! And don’t act like you haven’t seen those photos, I know you’ve been snooping through my things on many occasions.”

Sherlock didn’t bother to object to the accusation. John continued, “It’s just for a few weeks, while Harry and Clara try to patch things up. It’d be great if those two could get back together instead of having to ship the kids back and forth every month.”

Sherlock obviously didn’t care much about John’s views on the matter as he scooped up his violin and began plucking at the strings. John fell silent for several moments. “As soon as they are gone, you can bring back all of your experiment’s from Molly’s lab. I’m sure you can handle not having body parts everywhere. I’ll even let you keep that cadaver in the bathtub like you wanted.”

Sherlock seemed to brighten at that prospect., although he was careful not to let it show. John noted the switch though of the violin’s noise from minor to major chords, it meant he had won the argument. “But no experiments while they are here. No body parts. No growing mold in the cupboard. No shooting guns. And definitely, under no circumstances, are you allowed to try any sort of experiment or tests on them. Please, Sherlock, I’d like to return them to their mothers in the same condition they arrived.”

“Oh, alright. I’ll be good, so stop looking so worried.”

John grinned and sprang up from the chair. “Excellent. I’ll go make some tea, hm? Are you hungry? Maybe I’ll start supper.” Sherlock watched his flat mate buzzing around, obviously pleased with himself. Sherlock continued to pluck away at the violin strings, slower and more thoughtful. He supposed he did owe it to John. The doctor was one of very few people able to tolerate him, and would even go so far as to call him a friend. While he might be hesitant to do any favors for his family, the same could not be said of his friends.

“Sherlock!”

The consulting detective stilled the strings, “Hm?”

“There are toes in the drawer!”  


“I suppose there are.”

Favors could only go so far.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock as a babysitter, now featuring 100% more children!

They were scheduled to arrive early afternoon. Sherlock spent the majority of the morning in his bedroom, staying out of the way of John’s hoover and duster. John set about making last preparations for their guests and being generally aflutter about their arrival. Sherlock suspected he was most worried about the impression his flat mate would make on the family then whether the pillows were straight.

But despite John’s worries, they still showed up. The doorbell rang and John rushed down the steps, calling, “Sherlock, they’re here!” Sherlock couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He’d been watching his colleague’s family clambering out of the taxi for several minutes before the bell even rang. Harry was the easiest to recognize, with the same eyes as John and sandy blonde hair that flopped around her shoulders. Even the same smile.

Clara had been next to exit. She was slender, composed and had her mahogany brunette strands pulled back in a tight ponytail. A beautiful woman, but deep lines of continued anxiousness were beginning to become a permanent fixture of her face. She shared a look with her partner, but Harriet offered a reassuring smile and words of encouragement. After them, a boy leapt from the cab. He was a bundle of ginger and freckled energy, nearly bowling over three people in his haste to ring the bell of 221 Baker Street. Clara was shouting at him to apologize as Harry helped the last one from the vehicle.

Their daughter was the younger sibling, petite and frail looking. Sherlock shifted the curtain he spied through to get a better glimpse. The girl shared similarities with Clara, the same hair and eye shape. Obviously related. Now that was interesting, considering the family dynamics. Yet what caught Sherlock’s attention the most were the scars. They peaked out from the neck of the child’s shirt, trailing towards the bottom of her skull. The thin patches of hair did little to hide them, at least from Sherlock’s observant gaze.

But then John’s shouting interrupted any further spying and courtesy insisted Sherlock introduce himself to those he’d been watching. Well, at least John insisted upon it, courtesy was not a mistress Sherlock cared much to obey. As if to prove it true, he waited before finally joining the others. Hugs and squeals of laughter had begun to die down by then and the motley group had moved into the sitting room.

“Ah, there you are. Clara, Harriett, this is Sherlock Holmes.” John waved his hand between them. Clara was the first to extend her hand, offering a smile but gazing at him with certain wariness in her eyes. Apparently John had told them about his flat mate. Harriett was more jovial in her greeting, shaking his hand rigorously and grinning, “So this is the famous detective! It’s great to finally meet you. I feel like I should be asking for your autograph or something.”

Sherlock allowed a thin-lipped smile before extracting his hand back. “Yes, a pleasure. John has told me about you as well.” He decided not to bring up the fact that John’s few mentions usually involved her nasty drinking habit and a hint of resentment. However, going by the bags beneath the woman’s eyes, she had been following through on her plan to give up on alcohol altogether.

“Oh? Hopefully he says the same great things about me as he does about you.”

“Well—“

“And these are the kids!” John interrupted, shooing forward his niece and nephew and giving Sherlock a look that he was not to answer Harriet’s question. At least not truthfully. John rested a hand on his niece’s head, as she remained half hidden behind his legs, “This here is Clover. She’s six. Can you say hello to Uncle Sherlock, sweetheart?”

Before the girl could reply, her brother bounded up to Sherlock, “Uncle Sherlock? I thought Mum said you had a girlfriend!” He looked suspiciously at John, then leaned close to Sherlock and whispered, “I think he might be having an affair.”

Harriet snorted, “You twonk! Where do you come up with this stuff?” She took the boy and wrestled him into a headlock. John seemed more concerned that his nephew understand, “No, no, no. We aren’t together. He’s my flat mate. And we work together. Just call him Mr. Sherlock. Yeah, that’s better, Mr. Sherlock. I just meant uncle as in—oh never mind.” 

He paused as Clover tugged on his trousers until he bent down to her level. She whispered loudly, “Uncle John, I’m six and a half.” John smiled at the child, “Right. Sorry.” He glanced at Sherlock, “She’s six and a half.”

“I heard.”

“And the one being abused by his mother is Jack. He’s eleven.”

“Eleven and three quarters!”

“Oh hush you!” Harriet ruffled his hair soundly before laughing and releasing him. “They aren’t normally this silly,” Clara told Sherlock, “They’re just excited to see their Uncle John.”

Harriett grinned before taking a glance at her watch, “Well, we need to be leaving soon if we’re to catch our flight. I’m sure Clara would rest easier if we could have a quick tour of the place before jetting off.” Clara smiled appreciatively at her partner and squeezed the woman’s arm, “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind John. And we can go over their schedule and such.”

Before any objections could be made, it was just Sherlock and the two children left in the room. They stared at one another for several long moments. Clover stayed close to her brother’s side, fidgeting at the sleeves of her cardigan. Jack seemed to be sizing him up. He nodded at the back wall; “Someone drew a happy face on the wall.

“I’m an artist in my free time.”

“You aren’t a very good one. And I thought Mum said you are a police officer."

“Consulting detective, actually.”

“So you solve mysteries, like the detectives on the telly?”

“Except I’m better and smarter than those fictional characters. And the real ones, for that matter.”

Clover, feeling somewhat left out of the conversation, pointed at Sherlock’s art. “There are holes in the wall.”

“I get bored easily. Like now.” He strode across the room to the desk, flipping open John’s computer. The idea of sharing the house with these children was beginning to look less promising, and it had looked bleak from the start. He would need a distraction and soon.

Jack trailed after him and peered over his shoulder, “What’s the Science of Deduction?” Sherlock twisted his chair and the computer flush against the wall, but it didn’t seem to deter the boy as he had hoped. Jack apparently found Sherlock to be fascinating and would not be shaken so easily. He stood by the man’s arm, rolling a pen back and forth across the desk. “I want to be a doctor like Uncle John. Help people and stuff. That’s kind of what you do, right? Help people?”

“If its interesting, yes.”

“What if its boring?”

“That’s what the conventional officers are for.”

“What’s co- conven- conventional mean?” Jack didn’t seem to notice the corners of Sherlock’s mouth twitching with each butchered attempt at pronouncing the word. Sherlock pointed at the bookshelf, “There’s bound to be a dictionary over there.” Jack glanced at the books and sighed, “I didn’t really want to know anyway.”

Why he had asked in the first place, then, was completely beyond Sherlock.

Clover had become quite fascinated with the holes in the wall and was still wanting of an explanation. She climbed onto the couch to get a better look as her mothers and uncle came back into the room. Clara was speaking, “…just twice a day with those. More if she needs it.”

Harriet placed a placating hand on her shoulder, “Honey, he’s a doctor. If anyone knows what to do, it’d be him. It’ll be fine.”

“Right, right. Sorry, this is just our first long trip without them.”

John smiled, “Not to worry, everything will be fine. We’ll have lots of fun, right kids?”

“Uncle John, how come there are holes in the wall? Jack got in trouble when he did that at home.”

John glared to where Clover was pointing and blanched, “Darts! We play darts! Lots of darts!” He laughed nervously and cast a quick glance at his watch, “Oh look at how late it’s getting. You two better head off or you’ll miss your plane. Can’t have that!” He hurried them towards the door, hugging them each goodbye, as did the children. As Clara continued to rattle off last minute instructions to John while Harriett hailed a cab, Clover and Jack returned to Sherlock’s side.

“Isn’t there anything fun to do around here?” Jack asked, prodding Sherlock’s arm with the pen. The man glanced over the edge of his screen and grinned devilishly, “Shall I show you how I actually put those holes in the wall?”


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn’t taken long for John to decide it might be best to get the children out of the flat for a bit. Especially with Jack whining about wanting to practice shooting the smiley face on the wall. With a gun. Thanks for that one, Sherlock.

“But Mr. Sherlock said he thinks I’d be good at it!” the boy wailed, trailing after his uncle. John gave Sherlock a long glare, even though the dark haired man seemed rather intent on whatever he was typing. It was the slightest upturn of his lips that gave it away; just enough of a smirk to assure John that Sherlock was well aware of the ire directed his way.

However, when John suggested they start preparing for dinner instead of shooting the wall, Clover systematically went through the pantry and declared she didn’t like anything. John frowned and pulled down a box of crackers, “But Clara said you love these things.”

“The cheese kind.”

“We have cheese. I think we have cheese. Sherlock, do we have cheese?” He turned to see his nephew edging close to his flat mate again and that the man had the same devious glint to his eyes. He turned back to Clover, who was studying the box in his hands. “Those aren’t cheese flavor,” she informed him solemnly.

“Should we just go to the store then? Let you pick out what you want?” And most importantly, get Jack away from Sherlock. The girl nodded eagerly and sprang off the counter. John instructed her to go find her jacket and called for his nephew to do the same. As John helped his niece fasten the buttons of her coat, Jack came in carrying an umbrella and riding crop. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the crop for Sherlock to see.

“I use it on corpses, when need be.”

“Corpses? Aren’t those dead people?”

John, having finally managed to get the last button fastened, glanced over his shoulder and quickly forced a loud laugh. “Horses. He said horses. You use it when riding horses. Corpses? Oh Jack, think you need your ears checked. Where did you find that thing?”

“The umbrella stand.”

“Well go put it back and let’s head out. Wash your hands first, though. Really well.” John stood and slid on his own jacket before turning to Sherlock. “Anything you need from the store? Milk, butter, duct tape for your mouth?”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and finally looked up from his computer. “I don’t find it necessary to lie to children.”

“I didn’t lie. Technically, it is for horses. Of course whatever the bloody hell you want to use it for is fine—“

“Uncle John, you said a bad word!”

“What? Oh. Right. Sorry. Don’t repeat that in front of your mum, okay?”

“Maybe you should pick up some soap for your own mouth while you are out shopping for mine.” Sherlock smiled thinly as John fumed, “I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll see you then.”

“Mr. Sherlock isn’t coming with us?” Jack wailed, coming back into the room.

“No.” The men answered in huffy unison.

And then they were off, Sherlock to the seclusion and safety of his bedroom and John took the children to the store. The rest of the evening went fairly smoothly, except for the small squabble between Jack and Clover over who got to carry the basket. Just as they were about to head to the dreaded checkout register, John’s phone jingled.

_Pick up sleeping pills. SH_

Normally John might have objected, especially considering Sherlock’s past abuse of medications, but perhaps it wasn’t such a horrendous idea. Plus he wanted to stay on his flat mate’s good side unless he decided to fill Jack’s head with further wild ideas in an act of revenge. And its not like Sherlock had said they were for him, maybe he had some new experiment. John paused by the medication aisle and tossed a box of the pills into the basket. At the very least, a sleeping Sherlock would mean he wouldn’t need headache medication for himself.

The trio finished their shopping, stopped for supper ( _Bring me a prawn and pepperoni slice. SH_ John didn’t bother asking how he knew they were eating pizza, but ordered the take out) and returned home. He set Jack and Clover to putting away the groceries while he went to hunt down Sherlock. He knocked on the man’s door, “Got your meds and dinner.” He stood there awkwardly for a moment, not receiving a reply. “I’ll just…leave them by the door then.”

When the food had finally been put away, and the children shown where they would be sleeping during their little London vacation, John had them unpack, bathe and get ready for bed. He went down to the sitting room and was surprised to find Sherlock in the kitchen preparing the kettle. “I was just thinking a cuppa sounded fantastic,” John remarked, collapsing on one of the chairs, “Could I bribe you to make some extra? Maybe the kids would want one before bed.”

Sherlock smiled and walked out of the kitchen, “Already taken care of.” John was too exhausted to be suspicious of the detective’s generosity. He picked up the paper and began to scan over the articles as Sherlock perched on the opposite chair and turned on the telly. For a moment, it seemed like another regular night for the two. John reading the paper, Sherlock grunting irritably at the telly, the kettle softly bubbling from the kitchen.

Some time passed until Clover came padding down the hall. “Uncle John?” she called, sounding somewhat lost. “In here,” he called, folding up the paper. The girl entered the room in her nightie, hair still damp from her bath. She clutched a large bottle in both hands, “Jack is still in the shower. Can you help me with the lotion?”

“Of course, sweetheart, bring it over here.” He stood and began to rearrange the furniture so she could sit and watch the telly as he worked. However, the girl froze several steps in, eyes wide as she spotted Sherlock. He glanced up towards her before returning his eyes to the show. John looked at his niece for a moment before patting the seat beside him, “It’s okay, he won’t mind. Come on, sit right here for me. Good girl.”

The child nervously fidgeted on the chair, sending constant worried looks in Sherlock’s direction as John unzipped the back of her pyjamas. The marks Sherlock had spotted along her neck and skull were just the tip of the extensive injury that covered the girl’s body.

Her entire back looked like one gigantic scar, the skin twisted and red reaching around her sides, trailing down the backs of her arms. Only two small areas of her back seemed unaffected, the un-traumatized lines of skin running parallel to each other. They were by no means fresh injuries, but seemed to be permanent scars from a burning that had taken place perhaps a year or more ago. It must have been a very serious burn to ruin the skin to such an extent, especially considering how much of her body it covered. At least, that’s what Sherlock gathered from the glance he’d taken.

Clover seemed to relax as the moments went by and John continued to massage the lotion into her damaged skin. She peered over her shoulder to look at her uncle, looking almost giddy, “He didn’t notice.” The man smiled at her in response, he knew how self-conscious the child was of her scars. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that with a single glimpse, Sherlock had already memorized the scarring of her body.

“Hey Uncle John, can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“That one doesn’t count!”

“Oh, okay. Go ahead.” He grinned and finished massaging the last of the lotion into the backs of her arms and zipped her nightie back up. She twisted back around to face him, “How come you don’t use your cane anymore?”

“Ah. Well I have Sherlock to thank for that. He helped me get better.”

Clover glanced over at Sherlock with wide eyes. Without a word she climbed off the couch and went off to the kitchen, rummaging around the cabinets. Jack came bounding into the room moments later, dressed in his pyjamas but looking wide awake despite it. “Let’s watch a movie! Oh, good idea Cloves!”

His sister came back into the room, clutching a biscuit. She glared at her brother, “This one is for Mr. Sherlock, get your own!” She walked hesitantly up to the man before thrusting the treat towards him. Sherlock shifted his gaze from the telly to the biscuit silently, and just when John was about to explain to Clover that Sherlock wasn’t very fond of dessert, Sherlock took it with two fingers. “This needs a cuppa.” He said with a sudden, wide grin. On cue, the kettle began to whistle.

Sherlock unfolded himself from the chair and pointed to Jack. “You. I’ll need your help carrying.” Jack was more than eager to oblige his new idol and scurried eagerly after him. John watched them in the kitchen with obvious suspicion until he felt Clover snuggling into his side. “That was very nice of you to do for Sherlock.”

“Well, those are the biscuits I don’t like,” she replied, “but mummy Clara likes them. Plus, he made you better.” She yawned and rested her head in his lap. John smiled and rested his arm behind her, “Guess that does deserve a treat.”

He cast another glance towards the kitchen. Sherlock was staring at Jack intently and Jack was mimicking him. Wordlessly, Sherlock reached out and picked up Jack and held him for a moment, looking as though he were weighing the boy before setting him back down. Jack found it hilarious and rushed forward to try and pick up Sherlock. The man looked annoyed with the failed attempt and returned to fixing their tea.

When he heard another yawn, John glanced down at Clover, “Getting tired?”

“No, I want to watch the movie! I’m just…I’m just closing my eyes until it starts.” She sounded quite insistent, yet John suspected by the slur of her voice that the child might not stay awake long enough for it to start. He supposed he should insist that they go to bed on time. Of course it was a vacation and if there was ever a time to break bedtime, it was then. That’s why he was the fun (if not only) uncle, he thought with a touch of pride.

Jack and Sherlock came back into the room, each toting two mugs. Sherlock handed one to John with a look that he supposed was to be innocent indifference. Just being a normal friendly flat mate. John took the mug but sniffed it suspiciously when Sherlock wasn’t looking. It didn’t smell poisoned, but that would have been too obvious for someone of Sherlock’s caliber. Maybe.

Jack poked at his sister, finding her unresponsive except for an irritated grumble, and set her mug on the table beside them before plopping on the floor with his own cup. He munched happily on a chocolate biscuit, chugging down his tea. “This is great! Mum never lets us eat these or stay up this late.”

“What! You said she buys them all the time. Isn’t that what you said at the shop?”

“Well,” he said with a very sheepish look, “they look like the ones she buys. They both come in purple boxes. It’s just that she buys the ones in the health food section. They taste like cardboard, Uncle John. Cardboard. Besides, Sherlock likes them. Right?”

Sherlock was back in his chair, idly sipping at his tea with a plate of untouched snacks on the armrest. “Delicious,” he answered dully. John sighed, “Fine, fine. But you can only have one. And you can’t tell your mums.” Jack rolled his eyes as if that was a given, but promised not to tell. He then settle down in front of the telly and was promptly snoring five minutes later.

“Well that was fast,” John said with a glance down at his sleeping nephew. “I’m hardly surprised,” Sherlock remarked, “A sugar crash, most likely.”

“Think I should carry them upstairs? Might wake them up though.”

“Oh I doubt much of anything will wake him up for the next eleven and a half hours.”

John frowned over at Sherlock, “That’s oddly specific.”

“Isn’t that how long children sleep?” That feigned look of innocence was back on Sherlock’s face. That scoundrel, he was up to something.

“Hang on. Those sleeping pills I bought you. You didn’t!”

“Children need their rest, John.”


	4. Chapter 4

The movie had long since ended. An infomercial filled the screen, but John had turned it down to nearly inaudible. Jack was sprawled across the sitting room floor, tangled in the blanket John had thrown on him. Clover continued to sleep soundly across John’s lap, her soft rhythmic breathing a relaxing sound as he occasionally brushed her hair. Sherlock watched from the corner of his eye, at the sad but fond look that was on the doctor’s face.

They hadn’t spoken since Sherlock had all but confessed to drugging the children’s drinks. John had been deep in thought, and Sherlock was mildly concerned that his flat mate was truly upset about the sleeping pills. Well, he’d taken necessary precautions. Weighed the boy to make sure it wasn’t a hazardous amount. Even searched through all of the children’s belongings to make certain that they weren’t on any medications that would cause a reaction. John had nothing to worry about. Sherlock hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. If anything, some gratitude was in order.

When John’s voice finally broke the heavy silence between them, it startled them both. “Has Harry been drinking?” The doctor’s voice was low, serious. His eyes shifted from his niece’s sleeping form to gaze at Sherlock. The sleuth met his gaze, “Not recently. Her skin was loose from sudden weight loss, and there was a slight tremor to her hands. Nothing to indicate she is still drinking.”

John nodded, satisfied with the answer. He went back to entangling his fingers in the thin patches of the girl’s hair, silence lapsing between the two again. Sherlock had begun to debate whether or not it was worth the energy to get out of the chair in order to find the computer when John began talking once more. It seemed more to himself than anything, something Sherlock was often guilty of himself but found it surprising coming from his friend.

“She didn’t always drink. It wasn’t until things got bad, really bad, that Harry finally started drinking. The stress of the adoption, me being in Afghanistan, the fire. It was too much for her, I guess.” John glanced up at his flat mate, that same sad look on his face. Sherlock managed to keep his face passive, although truly he wanted nothing more than to see if he’s received a reply to the email about a potential case. Dealing with family matters was simply not his forte.

John seemed to think that he had a sympathetic ear, though, and continued on. “Harry’s a good person. A good mother, when she wants to be. They adopted Jack after volunteering at the children’s home. Fell in love with the crazy little ginger toddler, as Clara put it. I can’t blame them, he’s hard not to love.”

Sherlock didn’t bother masking the sarcastic smile pulling at his lips.

“Well, alright, he can be a bit of a handful,” John conceded upon seeing the look and chuckled. “But overall, he tries to be good. Looks out for Clover. Does well in school Although he got kicked out last month because he beat up some kid picking on Clover.” John smiled fondly down at the boy, “Guess I shouldn’t really encourage that behavior, huh? But I would have done the same. Actually, I have done the same back when I was just a few years older than him.” He chuckled at the memory and how Harry had wound up coming to his rescue (despite the fact that he was suppose to be defending her).

“Clover doesn’t know how to stick up for herself. Out of all of us, she’s had the roughest ride of it all.” The smile was gone from John’s face, and that heavy sadness was weighing upon him again. Sherlock spoke up, pulling John from his miserable thoughts, “She’s related to Clara.”

“Ah, you noticed. Of course you noticed. Yeah, she’s actually Clara’s niece. She’s belongs to Clara’s younger sister, Betty. But Betty got involved with drugs, and so Clara and Harry took Clover in for a bit. But next thing you know, Betty is saying she’s cleaned up her act. Ready to take care of Clover again.”

John gave a disgusted sigh, “Harry didn’t want to, and I didn’t think they should either. But Hugh, Betty’s boyfriend and Clover’s father, was threatening a custody battle. It wasn’t long after that when Harry lost her job and I got my orders that I’d be headed to Afghanistan. They felt to overwhelmed and gave her back to Betty. There was nothing else they could do.”

Jack’s snoring was the only sound for several moments. “I was overseas when it happened. Betty had lied about the drugs, of course. Had a meth lab in the basement of the house. It blew up in the middle of the night. Clover got out somehow, they found her lying in the snow in the front yard.” His voice began to choke with emotions, “And you know what the worst part is? Her bloody parents didn’t even die in the flames like they should have. They had decided to leave town that night and left a note on the neighbor’s door asking them to watch Clover while they were gone.”

John fell silent as his emotions overcame him. Sherlock remained silent as well, it wasn’t often he saw this side of his flat mate. And while he was glad that the man no longer saw that crack of a therapist, there were times Sherlock wished he better understood how emotions worked so he might offer some comfort. However, the thing that calmed John was a soft groan from the girl sleeping beside him. Immediately, the doctor was pulling the blanket back over the girl’s exposed toes and smoothing her scarred head.

“Ah, sorry Sherlock,” John finally muttered while standing. He stretched and heard little satisfying pops in his back. “I know that probably bored you, but thanks for listening. Or at least pretending to.” He flashed a quick, lifeless smile. “I’m off to bed. Think I’ll just leave the kids here for tonight, they seem to be fine. G’night, Sherlock.”

The detective offered a nod in return and watched his friend exit the room. Sherlock remained motionless for several more minutes, looking at the sleeping forms in his living room. He exhaled then glanced towards his computer. Best to get some work done although he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with that horrendous snoring coming from the boy.

Sherlock gathered his things and was about to retreat to his room when he saw that Clover had again uncovered her feet. He frowned before gingerly giving the blanket a tug, toes still exposed but she was better off. With that, he flipped off the light and retired to his bedroom.


End file.
